


Burned Like No Other

by ashilrak



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Background Alexander Hamilton/George Washington, Canon Era, Canonical Character Death, Four Horsemen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9184873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashilrak/pseuds/ashilrak
Summary: "A stern, deep voice called for him to enter, and Burr pushed aside the tent flap and walked in. When Death looked at the man sitting behind the desk, radiating command with hellfire in his eyes, something clicked. Burr took in a deep breath, 'Hello, Brother War.'War nodded, 'You shall address me by the title of the shell I inhabit and the face I wear.''Of course, your excellency.'"





	

Humanity is a beautiful and fragile thing. Its strength is in its weakness: mortality.

Death had walked among them for centuries. Death was constant, death was everlasting, unending. Death changed names and faces to suit the times. Sometimes Death would follow the crowd, taking claim to lives as the time came, leaving no trace. Eternity was boring, and Death, while patient, sought to be entertained.

War promised death like nothing else. Every moment had its own flavor, and the moments full of justice and duty were the sweetest. Death savored it. War called to Death; America, with it’s fresh soil and heated blood, was a siren.

The rabble screamed revolution, and the words were whispered into ears in corners of taverns and in the dark rooms of the so-called patriots and their sympathizers. 

Whispers turned into waves and the internal spark the colonists held within them was fanned into a flame by their spirit and rage. Colonists they were to be no longer. Names held weight, and they would be Americans in their own right, with their own land and government. 

Names held weight, and Death was an inky black abyss, unable to captured to be measured, so great was its mass. Death could change form and take shape, and when Death heard the war cries, Death became Aaron Burr. 

Death was everywhere - in every speck of dust, in every breath of air, in every wood - Death held dominion over all living things for they would all succumb. Cells die every second, every minute, every day and so Death had power over the minds of the humans that were so intriguing. 

The name and face were chosen with nary a thought. Death felt a call for this upcoming war more than any other, and Death was to be more than just a bystander - Death was to be a participant. Death was to touch the lives of people for bad and good, and lay claim to the dying with a physical touch for the first time in centuries. 

Death needed power and influence, so Death forced memories and actions upon the people until Aaron Burr was a well-regarded man, with wealth and intelligence to spare. 

Humanity was terrible and beautiful, and above all, humanity was interesting. So many feared death, as their instincts guided them to do, while others sought it out. Death always had a fond touch for those who rose above the rest and offered themselves. There would be those unable to go through with the action, or would not make sense of just what their souls were calling them to do, and Death would be kind, but not quite fond.

Alexander Hamilton knew what was calling him, but he took it as a challenge. Death and Hamilton were acquainted as much as Death and a human could be without Death taking form.

Death repelled those who feared the end, no matter what form Death took. Aaron Burr might wear a smile on his face, but even Death was unable to mask everything. Aaron Burr gave people an odd feeling, even to those who considered him a friend.

Aaron Burr was surprised when he heard a voice call out his name, but when he looked up and saw who it was, Death smiled.

Even in a physical form, Death was not limited to what was reachable within the confines of the limits of human mobility, and Death had brushed against Alexander Hamilton several times in the last year alone. 

Touch was unique, and different with every human. Death could feel the energies and past brushes and the futures of everyone, and Aaron Burr could feel the physical texture of the cloth and warmth of the skin underneath. It took time to become settled, and Aaron Burr was a recent development.

Alexander Hamilton burned like no other.

Death longed for nothing more than to take him, and when Aaron Burr placed his hand on Alexander Hamilton’s shoulder, he gasped. Alexander Hamilton would fall into Death’s embrace at the hand of Aaron Burr. 

Hamilton sent him a questioning look, and Burr shook his head and directed them toward a tavern. Hamilton’s confusion increased and took on a tinge of offense and bewilderment when Burr said, “fools who run their mouths off wind up dead.”

The tavern was loud and bustling with an undercurrent of anticipation and bloodlust that Death could just get a handle on. Burr strode in, and Hamilton shuffled behind. Death had intended for them to sit down at a private booth or table in order to take in the fire that was Alexander Hamilton, and Burr hated to make a scene.

John Laurens, full of energy and doomed to die while still young and beautiful, called his name. There was something innocent in the young faces that smiled at him, and so Death chuckled, and Burr said, “Good luck with that.”

More confusion was thrown his way, but Burr kept smiling. They needed all the luck they could get. War was brewing, and Death was staking a claim upon these men. There was something more to come, and there was no way to prepare.

Alexander Hamilton longed for a war, for the chance to rise up. Burr had taken Hamilton under his wing, and in turn, Hamilton had started to whisper to him secrets and ambitions kept private for so long. Death grew fonder of Hamilton, and that was dangerous.

Death didn’t know what it was about Hamilton, but Burr tried his best to reign the man in and hold him close. It was useless, for Hamilton attracted danger, and that he remained untouched for so long inspired them to try harder.

Them.

Death was never alone. War promised death like nothing else; War had always been a favorite of Death. Pestilence and Famine were without glory and honor. War brought horror and disgust, but the duty permeating the blood and gore gave it a frame that made it worth noticing. Starved and bodies marked with decay from lack of food and disease were to be covered with fabric, shoved into a dark corner, and burnt.

Alexander Hamilton was drawn in by the war just as much as Aaron Burr, and together they went their separate ways. Death watched from a distance as Hamilton fought and yelled and reasoned and rose up through the ranks. He sought after everything Death admired about War. Hamilton longed to be in the midst of the bloodshed, with rank and status. He longed to be someone before Death took him.

When word reached Burr’s ears that Hamilton had been brought in by General Washington as his chief-of-staff, it was not surprise that overwhelmed Burr, but jealousy. The chance to fight together had been there, but with Hamilton’s new position, it was taken.

Death had grown fond of Hamilton. Burr missed his friend, and he would imagine Hamilton standing at his side, sharing his opinions and fervor at much too loud a volume. 

Aaron Burr thought it was too simple to gain an audience with the Commander, but he had not questioned. Alexander Hamilton was favored by fate, and Death knew not to question fate. It made sense that things would fall into place..

A stern, deep voice called for him to enter, and Burr pushed aside the tent flap and walked in. When Death looked at the man sitting behind the desk, radiating command with hellfire in his eyes, something clicked. Burr took in a deep breath, “Hello, Brother War.”

War nodded, “You shall address me by the title of the shell I inhabit and the face I wear.” 

“Of course, your excellency.”

Washington nodded, wearing a smirk, “Now, why are you here, if you weren’t seeking me out?”

“Hamilton.”

Burr had prepared reasons and excuses for why he should take a place at the General’s side, but War would not want to hear them. Alexander Hamilton might have been acquainted with death, but he longed for war, and War had snatched him and claimed him in a way Death would never be able to while Hamilton still lived. 

The General chuckled, and Death knew that everything left unsaid was understood.

It was John Laurens who held the privilege of sharing a tent with Hamilton, and Burr was not alone with his longing glances. War too wanted the man’s heat, and Death smiled in victory when Burr got it first.

Hamilton had stumbled into his tent, seeking some sort of reassurance that Burr had been more than willing to offer. A platonic embrace grew into a lover’s touch when Hamilton’s lips found his own, and Hamilton’s claw-like fingers started to peel away his clothing. If Hamilton radiated warmth through layers of wool and linen, that was nothing compared to the fire that was his bare skin.

War called Death into the General’s tent the next day, and greeted Burr with a glare.

The next week had Hamilton walking with a limp that neither Burr nor Laurens had put there, and War forced a smug bearing onto the General’s shoulders. Hamilton was irresistible, and Death had no problem reminding the General that even if he kept Hamilton in his bed and at his side for the rest of the man’s life, it was Death who had the final claim.

War did not call Death into the General’s tent very often. Burr would be called in along with the other officers. Aaron Burr led a small contingent guarding the gulf, and so he was called into the General’s tent with more frequency while at Valley Forge.

Hamilton would visit Burr, alternating between him, the General, Laurens, and whoever else made it onto the list. The visits lit a passion within him Death did not know existed, and each second spent in the others’ presence was a delicious agony. 

When War summoned him, Death had expected more glares. Burr was summoned by the General for purposes of discussing the state of the troops, and Death would be called in to discuss Hamilton. 

But on this day, War was sporting worry and a tension Death was all too familiar with. Death had seen the expressions of inward and outward pain on too many bodies and faces to count. It was not an expression of the General, but an expression of War. 

The General walked Burr around the perimeter of the camp, and War said to him, “Famine and pestilence are upon us.”

Burr shook his head, “No, they are too desperate to be seen. We would have seen sign of them were they here with us.”

“No you misunderstand. The hunger and disease that is causing this suffering that is around us is very much present, and it was sent here by the British.”

Burr stopped in mid-step, “No.”

“You know as well as I do that the day the four of us are on the same side is the day the world ends.” The General continued to walk forward.

“Famine and Pestilence are fighting for the British.”

The General chuckled, “Fighting might not be the best word to use, but they are not on our side, that is for certain.”

Burr took in a breath. The two men walked in silence for several minutes. Death broke it, “We will win.”

“Yes. We always have, and you always have the final say. Our brothers and myself simply provide the means, as you know.”

“I do know.” Burr nodded, “Now, since that’s out of the way, what are your theories on Hamilton?”

“I wish I could tell you.”

The snow crunched beneath their feet, and Burr could see his breath in the air when he spoke, “Famine and Pestilence are unable to touch him.”

The General turned to look at him, “How do you mean?”

“He has told me of his past, and how the sickness that led me to his mother left him be. He eats as much as his fellow soldiers, yet he remains unaffected. Our shells are stronger than the mortal body, and his strength is on par with our own.”

War sighed, “You are correct. I do not know. I am going to keep him close, as will you, I imagine.”

Death nodded.

The war ended, they won, and the final battle was sweet with the sound of strings of fate snapping as bodies fell. Burr went to his law books, and found himself a wife. Theodosia was beautiful, but the life ahead of her was not long, and her touch did not inspire the same longing as Hamilton’s. 

Theodosia was not Hamilton, but Death was still able to melt into Hamilton’s embrace. Law held the same taste of duty and justice as war; it was a natural pattern for Hamilton to fall into. Burr and Hamilton worked side by side, and Death breathed in the air and life and fire of the man. 

His touches still burned Burr’s skin, and as time passed, comfort and intimacy grew. Death only became more fond of Hamilton and his fire, but Death longed for the flames and the occasion where Death was the one to put them out.

War went back to the General’s home, and was brought back into the spotlight by public demand. Burr could see how it wore on the General, but Death could see how War tasted and anticipated the future conflict. 

War was not always physical, and while the death toll might be lower, the subterfuge and betrayal and poisonings were worth looking forward to.

Hamilton left law, but continued to approach Burr. Death still burned at Hamilton’s touch, and was willing to go along with much of what Hamilton had to say. Burr might have appeared to be the perfect politician, but those sorts of events were not where Death belonged. 

Death watched as Hamilton ran back to War. Hamilton gave little thought to Burr now, but Burr missed his friend. It was for Hamilton that Death swallowed the pride and sunk further into Burr and ran for office. 

It had been a mistake, for Burr had taken Hamilton’s father-in-law’s place.

Burr had not let himself dwell on thoughts of Hamilton’s life and family. They only served to remind Death that Hamilton was not yet able to be claimed, and that was unwelcome. Burr had watched Hamilton’s fire and anger be directed at so many before, and it had been exhilarating. It was much more terrible being on the receiving end, and for the first time, Death felt the urge to take him as anyone else rather than as the final reward as Aaron Burr.

The much more terrible was better than nothing at all, so Burr continued to clash against Hamilton, just so Death could feel the heat and the smoke and the flame again.

Death had plans, and Death knew there were only a couple of years until Theodosia was taken for the final time. Death knew that Hamilton’s spark was going to fade with his son’s death, and Burr was going to have to sit back and watch.

Burr would sit back and watch until Death made the final moves and ended Hamilton’s life by Burr’s hand. 

Theodosia’s death had been a play by Pestilence, but Death had accepted it and Burr had mourned.

The General died five years later, and Burr was shocked. The entire nation felt the loss, and Death wondered where his brother had gone off to now that the shell had passed on. 

Hamilton had no feet left to stand on, and he had pushed Burr away, and spent his final years writing more and more against the man he had once called a lover. Hamilton’s words were like his flame; they spread and spread and left destruction in their wake.

The words were as close as Death would get to Hamilton’s touch again, and so Burr attracted Hamilton’s attention and incited his wrath, all for the purpose of his letters.

Death inhaled the air when the day arrived. Hamilton was approaching the duel with the sense of duty that accompanied the warfare he had spent so much time longing for, as well as the sweet tinge of a man seeking his own death. Hamilton had not been the same since his son died, and those dark feelings and memories were rising to the surface, strengthening his craving for Death’s sweet embrace.

Burr licked his lips.

He had chosen this spot with the intention of increasing the sensation.Death met Hamilton’s eyes, and something in Hamilton must have recognized what was to come, for his back straightened and his eyes became hard, and for a single second, the fire was back.

Hamilton threw away his shot, and Burr’s finger pulled the trigger. 

Death cried out with relief disguised as horror when the bullet entered Hamilton’s abdomen.

Burr was ushered away, and Death felt the tension of the string holding Hamilton to the earth grow. 

The next day, it snapped. 

Death smiled, for no one could lay claim to Hamilton now.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm happy with how this turned out, and I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Please feel free to pester me at my [tumblr](http://ashilrak.tumblr.com) :^))
> 
> <3 <3 <3 <3 <3


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